Cry Havok: A Brother's Story
by Ryudoz
Summary: Upon hearing of his brother's demise, Alex Summers Havok confronts the XMen about what happened to his brother. Not satisfied with what he hears, he sets off to investigate what happened to Scott at Alkali Lake, where he makes a startling discovery...
1. Alex

When Alex Summers had calmed down enough to realize what had happened, it was already too late. He could see the night sky lit by the fires the nearby trees cast upon Alkali Lake. Steam rolled off the top of the lake as Alex could see that he had evaporated a great deal of water in his outburst. It wasn't often he lost control like that, he reminded himself, but when it happened it was never pretty.

Fatigue set in as Alex doubled over, nearly collapsing. He was able to get a hand on the ground to prop himself up. It was probably better for him to sit down. The rocks he sat on were large and close to the water's edge. It was here that it seemed the lake opened itself up to whomever peered upon it. During the day, you could see the entire distance of this man-made water body. But now, all you could see were buring trees and charred stumps surrounding a steaming pool. Alex was amazed at how quickly he dispelled his stored energy. He would need quite a bit of rest to get back to full power.

Looking down now at his hands he realized they were shaking. The circular pattern on the backs of his dark leather gloves were outlined with pale yellow trim. An homage, no doubt, to the color and shape of the energy he propelled from his hands. He couldn't help but manage a small chuckle as he noticed the same pattern repeated up and down the sleeves and pantlegs of the leather uniform he was wearing. Standard issue, Logan had told him. He couldn't help but shake the feeling that this uniform had been made quite some time ago. As if they had planned on having anothe Summers on the squad. This one codenamed: Havok.

He pulled off his gloves and reached for the zipper by the collar of his uniform. He unzipped the suit halfway past the large leather "X" on his chest and felt the cool air rush into his lungs. A tight fit, he thought. Underneath the suit Alex wore a shirt that had a similar circular pattern--a small circle inside of a large one--as his gloves and sleeves on it. Alex had made it a point to ask if he got his own color and symbol coded toothbrush as well. Storm's response was that of a forced laugh. Only for Junior X-Men, she had retorted. He reached inside the chestpiece and into a small pocket. From it, Alex pulled out a small polaroid picture. It showed a family of four: dad, mom, and two boys. One of the boys, the older of the two, had brown hair where the younger had blonde.

"I'm sorry Scott," he said quietly as he gazed at the picture. "Who knew it would end like this?"

"Who indeed, my dear boy," a voice spoke from behind him. Alex jumped up to see who it could be, not realizing that this whole time his back had been to the burning waste behind him. What he saw was a man he had seen before, albeit recently. He was tall and rather well built for a man he suspected was in his 40's. He had pale skin and red eyes from what Alex could tell and a small red diamond on his forehead. His voice had a very distinct English accent to it.

"Damnit," was about all Alex could get out before the mysterious man raised his hand and emitted a flash of light from his palm. The force of the blast flung Alex back far enough to cast him into the steaming water. Stunned, tired, and losing conciousness fast, Alex was only able to make out a smile on the man's face before everything finally faded to black.


	2. Ororo

"Ms. Monroe?"

Ororo Monroe's head popped up from the desk it had been resting on.

"What? Who?" she asked, still trying to get her bearing. She looked around her office, and couldn't see very well. Did I turn the lights off, she asked herself. "Who is it?"

"It's Bobby," the voice replied. "The class got tired of waiting for you, so I took it upon myself to see if you were in your office. Apparently with good reason."

Ororo's vision started coming back to her, and she was wrong about the lights. She realized that it was almost noon and she was late to teach her American Literature class.

"I'm sorry Bobby. I guess I passed out," she replied meekly.

"It's okay," Bobby chuckled, "I won't tell anyone. Did you need anything? Water? Coffee? Aspirin?"

"No Bobby, I'm fine." Ororo wiped her eyes and saw that she had done a rather unspectacular face-plant into the stack of papers on her desk. She put a hand over her mouth to cover her yawn and felt that her face was a little disheveled. She could feel the dimples in her skin where the paper had been pressed against her face.

Getting up from the desk, Ororo crossed over to the window to try and wake herself up a little bit. She felt a sense of regret—it was the second time this week she had passed out at her desk—as she felt she was doing the students a disservice with her behavior. Being the new Headmistress of the school was a little more daunting than she had initially realized. It was times like this that she missed Scott, Jean, and Xavier the most.

Fortunately for her though, Warren decided to stay at the school to help out. Ororo could sense that he really wanted a place he could feel welcome, and he jumped at the chance to help out anyway he could. It didn't take much more than a simple offer to pique his interest of possibly teaching. He agreed almost immediately and began teaching the American Literature class that Ororo had just missed. She was subbing in for Angel as he was back in California visiting his folks. His father had become ill not too long after the incident at Alcatraz four months ago, and he felt compelled to be with him.

But in the meantime, she took over his classes while Logan taught the rest. Logan lobbied to get the easier subjects, of course, leaving Ororo with the more "bookish" ones. She was thankful though that she didn't have to worry about teaching auto shop, which had been one of Logan's specialties since Scott's death. She yawned again. Damn I'm tired, she thought. Looking through the window she could see that she looked the part. Her silvery hair, now almost shoulder length, enveloped the dark skin on her face and neck. Her steely blue eyes were bloodshot with fatigue. If it wasn't for the nice silk shirt and black slacks she wore, you would think she was a drifter.

She turned back and looked at Bobby. He was a strapping young lad, if she did say so herself, with his short cropped brown hair and chilly blue eyes. He was slightly taller than her and was one of the more athletic students at the academy. He dressed much like the other students: light blue T-shirt, blue jeans, and sneakers. But he always seemed to stand out amongst the others. Maybe it was how he held himself. Cool, much like his codename: Iceman.

"Ms. Monroe?" Bobby asked. 

Ororo realized she was staring. "Oh," she blurted. "I'm sorry Bobby. And please call me Storm."

"Ok… Storm, did you want me to tell the other student's that class is canceled?"

Storm thought for a minute about it. It was probably best, considering the kids would be aching to get something to eat at this point. Plus, it would take her a few minutes to get composed anyways.

"Yes," she said after a few moments, "but if you could tell them to finish reading 1984, I would appreciate it."

Bobby smiled. "You got it Storm," he said as he walked out the door.

Oddly enough, as Storm watched him leave, she couldn't help but think of Scott. Bobby sort of resembled Scott, and in a way, he seemed to look up at him when he was still around. Scott had been a reassuring presence up until Jean's first "death". After that he was a wreck. He seemed hopeless and constantly at odds with both the students and the faculty.

She remembered one time in the Danger Room, while he still bothered to teach combat tactics, that he put on a rather violent display of destruction for the students. Apparently they had failed to work as a team, Scott had said. And he was determined to make sure they realized that their actions meant life or death in those situations. Bobby took it especially hard, as he was put in charge of the team that went in. Bobby went and talked to Scott about it afterwards, and in one of the last few moments Storm remembered seeing Scott, he smiled and told Bobby not to sweat it and to remain focused on the battlefield. Scott said he would be alright if he "kept his cool." Since then, Bobby's stood out as a leader among the students. A trait, she realized, he seemed to have gleaned from Scott.

A sudden ringing of the telephone on her desk startled Storm for the second time that morning. Quickly composing herself, she grabbed for the phone and answered it with a tired, "Hello? This is Ororo Monroe, Xavier Academy."

"Storm? Logan. We got a visitor. You might want to come see him," a gruff voice from the other line said.

"Him?" she replied.

"Yeah, it's Blondie."

"Alex? Alex is here?"

"Yeah, he's waiting here in the foyer with me."

"Tell him I'll be right down." 

She hung up quickly as she straightened herself up. Alex Summers was always welcome here at the school as he was a good friend and a nice guy. He had visited a few times in the past and they were always fun. Alex was the kind of guy you enjoyed hanging out with and having a good time. But he was just serious enough that you'd follow him anywhere if he led you. One of the few things he had in common with his late older brother.

Walking down the hallway, she felt the rush of seeing an old friend. Havok had stopped by maybe a half dozen times in the past year or so, but his last visit wasn't the most pleasant. It was a couple of months ago and he had just heard the news. Alex's job in the Pentagon had him travel quite a bit and he was gone when everyone else had found out. He took it about as well as anyone else would have, she thought to herself. At least he only tore up his brother's room. He left shortly afterwards not saying much after only staying for an hour. Storm couldn't help but feel guilty about the whole thing.

Turning a corner she could almost hear the guys talking as she approached the front door. Oddly enough Alex and Logan got along quite well, a trait that Scott unfortunately did not possess, and could be considered friends. It's probably Alex's laid back attitude, Storm figured. Not as uptight as Scott. When she reached the top of the stairs leading down into the foyer, she spotted Alex right away. He was a tall strong looking man, wearing a white dress shirt and some khaki slacks. The shirt was neatly tucked in and he left the top few buttons undone exposing a white T-Shirt underneath. His short blonde hair was neat and tidy save the few small strands that dangled in front of his blue eyes. Storm half-thought she was looking at a model for GQ.

"Storm!" he called up to her.

"Alex!" she called back as she bounded down the steps. She gave him a firm hug as she spoke. "It's good to see a friend."

"I apologize I couldn't come sooner," Alex responded, "but I just got back from Egypt myself. Some people in the government thought we should investigate possible mutant activity, so I got to play in the sand for awhile. But I've been worse. You?"

"Scrambling to keep the kids educated as always."

"So what brings you here Blondie?" Logan piped up.

Alex's demeanor changed a little bit. And almost business-like he proclaimed, "I need to talk to you guys. Can we go somewhere private?"

"Sure Alex. Is something wrong?" said Storm.

"Well... it's about my brother."

"Your brother?" asked Logan. "Your brother's dead."

"No he's not," he replied. The impact of those words seemed to shock the other two. "And I have proof."


	3. Logan

"Some proof," Logan quipped.

"The computer's not even on," Alex replied, a small chuckle in his voice. Logan was getting impatient. The so-called proof that Alex claimed to have had yet to reveal itself, and he was getting tired of waiting. Frustrated, he started to pace the room while Alex and Storm get the computer online. Looking around at the steely walls and floor Logan got the sense that Blondie was about as crazy as Scott had been before his unexpected slaughter at Jean's hands. He pulled a cigar from his shirt pocket and lit up, taking a long drag as the smoke started to fill the room. Logan knew that smoking inside the mansion was against the rules, but they technically weren't in the mansion anymore. Logan had become fond of referring to the X-Men's command center underneath the mansion as "the basement".

"Logan, put that out."

He turned to see Storm glaring at him obviously annoyed. He could tell just as much from her voice.

"You and Blondie done messin with that thing?" he replied.

"Yes, Alex is uploading the information from the disk now," she said, "and you know the rules about smoking."

The disk that Ororo was referring to was a small CD-like disk Alex had kept hidden in that small black box. It was only after they had come down to the basement did Alex produce the item.

"Your brother is on that? Must be a tight fit," he remembered saying.

"Very funny," Alex responded.

Logan took one more drag before begrudgingly putting out his cigar, once again using the palm of his hand. Looking down, he wondered, how bad it would look if he didn't have his coveted healing factor. Probably like the surface of the moon, he thought. He looked back up and produced the unlit stogie to Storm, as if to say, "Yes mother, it's out" and then placed it back in his shirt.

"It's ready," Alex called to them. Logan realized that his wandering had taken him, and subsequently Storm, to the other side of the large room.

"So where is it?" Logan asked as he pulled up a chair behind Alex.

"Just hold on a second. I'm pulling up the files," Alex said. Logan didn't know what he was doing, but he sure was taking his sweet time. "Here it is."

On the screen before them, they could see a large stretch of land. Mostly forest with a large body of water in the middle. On the very edge they could see a highway, twisting and turning all the way up and down. At one end of the water, the three could see a large dam. It didn't take long for Logan to figure out what he was looking at. Alkali Lake.

"This is some satellite footage from one of our surveillance satellites," Alex began. "After your run-in with Striker and his men, the Pentagon wanted to keep a close eye on the area afterwards. And so they assigned me and my cell to keep tabs on the area."

"Your cell?" Storm asked.

"X-Factor," he replied coldly. "A government sponsored cell whose main goal is the observance and recording of mutant activity. However, I wouldn't go asking about us on Capitol Hill unless you want to get laughed off the block."

"And why is that?" Logan asked.

"Because we technically don't exist," Alex continued. "The government decided that to stay on top of mutant activity, they would have to have a team dedicated to the surveillance of mutants itself. We use satellites and the occasional field-work to get the kind of reconnaissance we do. Dr. McCoy himself headed up the project as a governmental aside, and was also pivotal in me getting the job as field leader."

"Furball?"

"Yup. He believed that information was the key to mutant relations and anything we could do to provide ourselves with as much of it as possible would be beneficial. We keep our confrontations to a limited in X-Factor, and are merely investigative. But I would be remiss if I didn't say that we haven't had the occasional skirmish. Here we go."

Logan redirected his vision to the computer screen. He could see Alex navigating the viewpoint to look directly at a large section of rock next to the lake. There was one large rock surrounded by hundreds of other smaller rocks. It was a place he remembered well, as it was where they had found Jeannie. Although this was different. He could see a figure walking up towards the largest rock. He had brown hair, a brown leather jacket with two vertical stripes on it, and jeans. He didn't need to see the man's face to know it was Scott.

"Scott?" Storm asked.

"Yes ma'am," Alex replied.

"Can you get any closer?"

"You bet. This satellite is so good that if I wanted to, I could look down your shirt Ororo," Alex joked. Storm let out a forced chuckle. The computer screen froze, and Alex seemed to crop the picture they were looking at and then zoom in. Everyone could see more clearly now that the person they were looking at was indeed one Scott Summers, a.k.a. Cyclops. The view they had was still pretty much top-down, but they could see the glasses on his face more clearly. They could even make out the rest of the features on his face, albeit barely.

Watching the screen, the trio was greeted with the sight of Scott shaking his head furiously and then screaming into the air. Moments later he whipped off his glasses and fired a wide beam of energy into the lake, tearing a watery scar about 200 feet long. Wow, Logan thought to himself. He had never seen Scott fire off something that impressive before. The lake started to change after that, as a large whirlpool formed where Scott's beam had ended. It became larger and larger until a flash of light and a wave of energy burst from it, tossing Scott on his back. The screen became enveloped in light only momentarily, and when it cleared the three of them could see Jean standing there on the rocks over a laid out Cyclops.

"Jeannie," Logan whispered.

Scott picked himself up and moved towards Jean, almost hesitantly. After a few moments they embraced. Jean then removed Scott's glasses and they stared at each other.

"Jean could do that?" Storm asked.

"Apparently," Alex replied coldly. Logan could sense the tension in his voice, probably because of what was about to happen. On screen Scott and Jean kissed. Logan could feel a knot form in his stomach. She chose him, he thought as his eyes drifted towards the floor. It was painful to watch them kiss. Storm suddenly let out a gasp and Logan looked up. Scott had pushed himself away from Jean all of a sudden and started clutching at his head. Looking up to the sky the three of them could see Scott's face once more screaming in agony as his eyes began to glow red once more, firing a large beam into the sky. Redirecting his vision at Jean he fired a large wide beam of energy right at her, something that she barely contained with a telekinetic field.

"My god..." Logan started. Eyes fixated on the scene unfolding before him, he could see the rocks start to float all around the two lovers. Scott was pummeling Jeannie's field with his optic blast, stepping closer to amplify the intensity. To Logan, it appeared as though Scott was gaining the upper hand. However, that was not to be the case as it appeared that the blast from Scott's eyes was fading in color.

"Is he weakening?" Storm asked.

"Don't know really," Alex replied, "but it seems as though she's doing something.

Yeah something is right, Logan thought. He watched as Scott's beam almost vanished entirely. Jean finally had her chance as she thrust her field out towards Scott sending him flying backwards. What amazed him was that Scott kept going and going.

"He hits the trees?" Logan asks.

Without getting an answer he watches as Scott slams into the trees disappearing instantly. The leaves of trees start to shake in what looks like a fairly straight line for what seems like forever. How far did she throw him, Logan asks himself. The camera follows the brushing of the trees for a few more moments until it comes to a stop.

"Oh Scott..." Storm mutters.

"That's not all," Alex says. The viewpoint on the screen shifts back to the lake where the three can see Jean becoming woozy and stumbling around. Putting her hand to her forehead she bumps into one of the rocks that had begun floating. A few more moments pass until she finally collapses near the edge of the water. With a few button presses, Alex speeds the video up as fog starts to drift over the lake, clouding the screen.

"Here's where you two come in," Alex announces.

The events that unfolded before them was nothing new. Logan found Scott's glasses--as they had started to float like the rocks--and then Storm found Jean. Logan would run over to the two women and then pile back into the Blackbird. But what Logan hadn't realized was how little time he had spent reflecting on Scott's glasses, and the significance of it. From what they saw of the video, Logan paused for no more than a few seconds before rushing to Jeannie's side. Logan could sense something wasn't right. Alex could have just passed this up. It didn't prove that Scott was alive. It almost seemed to show that Scott's end was probably a little more painful than they had previously thought. The impacts of the trees would have surely killed him, and if not, being left for dead with broken bones sure as hell wasn't anyone's ideal way to leave this world. No, Logan could sense Alex had an ulterior motive in replaying this scene before the two. It felt more like a cold accusation than an explanation of the situation.

"What are you trying to do here Alex?" Logan asked. "What are you really here for?"

Alex stood up from the computer. "You left him," he said as he turned to face Logan. "You obviously didn't give him another thought once Storm found Jean." He started walking towards Logan now, as well as unbuttoning the cuff on his right wrist.

"What are you getting at? We had his glasses," said Storm. "And when I found Jean she looked like she was in critical condition. We needed to get her to safety."

"You knew Scott had been there, yet didn't question where he could be going without his sunglasses." Alex countered, now pushing his sleeve up past his elbow.

"Hold it right there bub," Logan commanded. "I suggest you get to this proof of yours and get the hell out of here before you start slinging accusations around."

"Fitting you'd be the most defensive Logan," Alex replied, "considering your feelings towards my brother and Jean."

"What about 'em?"

"Everyone knew how you felt about them. How you were in love with her and despised my brother. And yet you seem to forget all about him when Jean turned up, miraculously alive after so long. Apparently you never considered the possibility that he might still be alive."

"Look Blondie, I asked Jean about your bro, and she said he was dead. She then fried his glasses and told me to kill her, although I didn't get a chance before she tossed me around the room. Now if you want to make something of it, then come see what'll happen if you do."

Logan pushed his long adamantium claws through the knuckles of his hands. The pain accompanied with it always seemed to give him a rush, and in this particular instant he felt the need to vent some frustration. Alex had stormed in here waving some "proof" that his brother was alive in some thinly veiled attempt to exact some manner of revenge against him and Storm for whatever reason, and all it was doing was making Logan mad.

"Gladly," Alex said while raising his right arm. In that instant a large pillar of pale yellow energy shot from his outstretched arm right into Logan's face, burning him with an intensity he hadn't felt in months. So much, in fact, that he stumbled back a few feet as he cried out in agony. He could hear Storm yell at Alex for what had happened as Logan could feel the flesh on his face slowly sliding off. Apparently Alex had melted the right side of it down to the metal.

Logan let out a battle cry as he sped toward Alex only to be met with another blast of energy, this time to the chest. White hot pain filled Logan as he could see Alex pouring out a stream of it right on top of him, melting away layers of flesh finally stopping after a few moments. His breathing became labored as he looked down at the damage. Logan could see his metallic ribs and mostly melted lung and organs searing underneath. It didn't look pretty, but he could also see the skin slowly start to repair itself.

"You left him. You were glad he was gone. And even after you confronted Jean about it, you did nothing," Alex said, almost defiantly. He shot another blast, this time to Logan's face once more, melting the skin that had already begun to heal up.

"Alex, please... stop this..." Storm cried weakly. "You're hurting him."

"Oh yeah? You want to know hurt?" Alex replied. "Try being told your brother was dead, even though no one found his body or even tried to, and that he was killed by the woman who loved him. Dumped by the only friends he had. Betrayed by the man he looked up to. By the vagrant that was only after his girl. The only people who ever accepted him and then wrote him off in a heartbeat. You wanna talk crap? You wanna talk hurt? THAT'S HURT!"

Alex shot another blast of energy at Logan, again hitting his chest. Logan screamed in pain once more, and collapsed on the ground. His claws retracted as he fought off the pain. You win Blondie, he thought. Maybe I deserved this one. Alex let up thankfully and Logan caught his breath. His lungs had been melted and partially reformed along with his face and his chest. It was a small wonder that Logan wasn't dead. Wouldn't be the first time he had thought that.

"You want my proof? You want to know how I know my brother is still alive." Alex asked as he rolled his sleeve down. "Then watch this."

Logan saw Alex sit down at the computer again and Storm, still visibly shaken by what had just happened, walking up beside him. Picking himself up, Logan walked over to the computer to see what was going on.

"The reason I came here is that I just recently came back from a small reconnaissance mission in Egypt," Alex started, "Basic land surveillance sweeps and whatnot. We had some Intel on some mutant activity. In any case, my associate Lorna gave me the inside scoop that something has been going on back up in Canada and that I needed to check it out when I got back. So I come home and check it out. This was two days ago. The footage you're about to see is from last week, well after the incident with my brother and Jean at the lake."

The screen now showed a large forest from quite a distance away, as if the camera was up in a plane. Towards the bottom of the screen Logan could make out a small town. In the middle of the forest was a tiny clearing that looked like a house. Alex positioned the cursor on the small clearing and zoomed in. It was here Logan could tell that it was definitely a cabin of some sort, but the clearing was too small to see much of anything else. They could tell though, that a man seemed to stumble out of one end of the house and then disappear beneath the trees. Stumbled was putting it lightly though, as the man looked like he couldn't see where he was going.

"Who?" Storm asked.

"Just watch," Alex replied.

It was here that Alex's evidence showed itself, and Logan couldn't believe his eyes. He heard himself say the word "impossible" after what he had seen. He could see Alex rewind the video and freeze the frame to clearly show what his proof had been all along. For what they were now staring at was a large red beam that tore through the trees, racing up to the sky.


	4. George Stuart

Alkali Lake.  
Canadian Wilderness.  
Peace and quiet.

That's what most folk think when they hear about Sweet, a town not to far from Alkali Lake. A town that has a rich history given it's 100 plus years of existence. About as quiet and sleepy a small town as you could get. Approximately 700 people called Sweet home, but you'd never know to look at it. About a dozen streets ran through what most people would call just another mountain retreat. Not fancy in the least but certainly stocked with the essentials. There was a Town Hall set right in the middle of Sweet, right next to Dr. Essex's building and the Bowling Alley most teenagers visited on Friday evenings. Across the street was a grocery store and the place where most adults spent their Friday nights: The Kodiak.

The Kodiak was nothing too special for a bar of it's size. Run by a man, who coincidentally was named Kodiak, that was about the last person you would ever want to have a run in with. A large thick man with a Native American background who'd often serve as his own bouncer should the need arise. He was good folk. The Sheriff's office was a couple streets over, out on the edge of town, and it also served as a welcome center for those who wanted to visit this particular settlement. In fact, it was twenty years to the day that the last sherriff had retired and it was getting time for the current one to go. George Stuart was his name. A fine man indeed.

To be honest, George couldn't wait to retire. After spending valuable time and money he had built himself a nice cabin up in the hills a few miles away from Sweet. He preferred the land closer to Alkali and would spend many a day with his small boat out in the water. He'd often look at the damn and wonder how such a structure could hold back so much water. The old sheriff would chuckle at himself say he's an old fool for thinking crazy.

"Because that's what it does," he'd say.

But on this day, however, he was heading down to Sweet to pick up groceries. Or at least that's what he told his friend Slym. He meant to pick some up while he was in town but at the very least stopping by the Kodiak for a couple of drinks before heading back. George had a rough day and he planned on making up for it in some way. Seems like he had more bad days after he had found Slym, barely alive in the trees not far from Alkali Lake. He remembered that day as if it had just happened, and it was that particular memory that George tried to down with the alcohol he frequently drank.

------

A few months ago George had been out early for some fishing. He and his dog Duke had been out on the lake tossing a few back. George found that the booze made the fishing that much more exciting. After throwing down the six pack he had brought with him he decided that he was ready to head out, having been on the lake for a few hours. George knew how to drink and hold his liquor, but he'd have trouble on this day.

Pulling his boat on the shore he quickly tied it up to the trailer his old truck pulled behind it, and proceeded to finish packing his gear. Then Duke started getting anxious, moaning and wagging his tail like crazy.

"Whatsa matter boy? You smell somethin funny?" he asked. Duke let out a soft moan as if to say yes. "Well, then let's finish packin up and take a look around, okay?" This time Duke's moan was deeper, almost negative. "No?"

A piercing scream broke the silence of the lake as a light fog rolled up the shore. George tried to look in the direction of the scream and then heard a loud ripping sound, as if someone was tearing the lake apart. For a moment George had thought he had seen a flash of red light hit the water on the other side of the lake, but the fog had muddied his view. He felt worried now and finished quickly.

"C'mon Duke, we're gonna have a look," he said. As George got in his truck a bright flash of light hit his rear view mirrors nearly blinding him. "What in four Hells?" Turning around he noticed that the light that had just blinded him was now fading fast, pulling the fog into the space it had just occupied. Adamant now about finding out what was happening George started the truck and headed towards the road. Having to drive through a small trail blazed by the locals it took a couple minutes just to get to the highway running by the lake. Once there, he turned left in the direction of the light. Duke sighed.

"Prohly gonna be gone when we get there, eh Duke?" he asked. Duke didn't respond this time. George hardly took notice. The ol' detective was rising in him and whatever had happened certainly had his attention.

Gunning the engine, George was certainly feeling the effects of the beer take hold of him. He started to waver along the road and his vision was getting blurred. He started laughing to himself. He figured he was going crazy or senile or both at this point as George was hitting his late 60's now. Sweeping a hand across his thin face he felt sweat as his heart was pounding with excitement. He could feel the grayed stubble like sandpaper as he wiped the sweat off his upper lip. He was trashed and was probably seeing things. Stranger things have happened.

Suddenly a large object flew across the road screaming through the air. George slammed on his brakes to keep from getting blindsided by it. Good Lord it was big. Almost looked like a person, George thought. But whatever it was it was here and gone in a flash as it had disappeared into the forest on his right. Getting his breath back he pulled the truck over to the right shoulder and stopped.

"You see that?" he asked Duke. Duke didn't answer. The golden retriever just put his head under his paws, as if frightened. "Hmph," George responded, "Meybe I should take a look." It was more statement than question, but George was still trying to reconcile what had just happened. Getting out of the truck he reached behind his seat and pulled out his hunting rifle. An M1C Garand George had come across during his time as sheriff. Not much would be left standing if they got hit with one of those rounds, and George intended that if whatever or whoever almost hit his truck was hostile then he would be dealt with accordingly.

George stumbled into the woods on what he figured was the path that the object took. And judging by the broken branches that littered the trees he had a hunch his heading was true. Still woozy from the alcohol buzz, George nearly tripped over a large root that jutted from the ground. He grunted as he caught himself on a nearby tree limb yet almost immediately pulled his hand back as he felt a thick wet substance on it's bark. A substance George was all too familiar with. Blood.

Sobriety hit him like a ton of bricks at this revelation, as George was now certain that whatever had almost hit his truck was a person. Prohly a young man, he thought judging from what he recalled. Pressing on into the forest, he was amazed at how many broken branches he found, but had noticed that the level with which the trees had taken damage was getting lower to the ground. Stopping to look behind himself, George couldn't see any bit of road in the distance and also taking note that the person's travel through the forest wasn't exactly a straight shot. George turned to continue in the forest when he heard a soft groan followed by that same ripping sound he had heard earlier, although only briefly and not as loud. George quickened his pace and stumbled upon yet another tree root sticking out of the ground, this time landing on his face. As he landed he let out a loud yelp as the wind got knocked out of him.

Or did he?

Sucking in air, George realized he couldn't have made much of a sound as he fell and realized that the root he had stumbled on was in fact a brown boot. This boot was attached to a pair of blue jeans that in turn were attached to an upper body wearing a brown leather jacket and a red shirt. On top of those was the face of a man who seemed to be barely awake, yet moaning in pain.

"My... God..." George muttered.

The man laying before him was about as broken as George had ever seen a living creature. Blood stains on his torso, his right leg twisted about and prohly broken. His shoulder looked a bit awkward and his face had smatterings of blood all over. George paniced almost immediately. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out his cell phone and he dialed 911 and got the Sweet Emergency Dispatcher, Betty. She was the emergency dispatch for the Fire Department and the local Sheriff's office.

"Hey Betty? Yeah, it's George, oh God, I need some help down here at Alkali," he quickly shot into the phone. He listened for a moment. "I found someone barely alive in the forest round the lake and need a pickup." He reached out his free hand and felt the man's neck for a moment. "Yeah, it's weak but there. I'm in the forest east of the lake. You'll see my truck. We need to get this guy to Doc Essex pronto."

George hung up and put the phone in his pocket. He knew that Essex was the only doctor within 30 miles of the lake and that he needed some help right away. The doctor had a small facility, but was very adept at treating patients with serious injuries. George remembered the time he broke his arm and leg a couple of winters ago, and the doc had performed surgery that same day on both of em. He was a good man and George knew he could help whoever had just taken a ride on the winds through this forest.

"C'mon Slym stay with me now," George said to the man on the ground. "You're gonna get help real soon. Real soon."

"Jea... je... Jean..." the man said.

"Jean?" George asked.

------

Back in the present, George found himself sitting at the bar in the Kodiak tossing down whiskey like it was going out of style. Five shots and he still had em comin. Slym, as he had come to call the man he had found, was picked up by the fire department's EMS and taken to the doc's not long after he came to only briefly. Turns out he had a concussion, a dislocated shoulder, a broken leg, and a few broken ribs after bouncing off some dozen trees and the doc was still able to get him fixed up in what seemed like no time. George out of some bizarre sort of obligation was compelled to take Slym to his cabin and nurse him back to help. It didn't take long before Slym became a walking talking person again. Everything except remember who the hell he was and what he was doing flying through the forest or even who Jean was.

George slammed down another shot. He motioned to the bartender to give him another.

"You know George," the bartender said, "you keep drinkin and I'm gonna have to drag you over to the drunk tank over at the County."

"Now Maddie," he fired back.

"Don't you 'Now Maddie' me George," Maddie replied. She was a tall and slender gal with fiery red hair that came down just past her jaw and blue eyes that could melt anyone's heart. Madelyn Pryor, just about every guy in Sweet's dream woman. "What would Slym think of you gettin tanked on a school night?"

George thought about it for a second. He had only told Slym he was getting some groceries, but he figured Slym knew that was Stuart-speak for "getting drunk at the Kodiak and possibly getting food on the drive home if I made it home without killing myself."

"He'd probably call me the old fool that I am," George replied with a wry smile. He titled the new glass Maddie sat in front of him slowly, drinking in the warmth of the alcohol.

"How's he doin anyways?" Maddie asked.

George could tell this was coming. Everytime he saw her she'd ask about Slym. He figured it was his own damn fault introducing those two kids, but Slym wanted to do something aside from sit around with Duke at the cabin so George got him some work. He had talked with the owner of the bar and was able to get him to hire Slym under the counter as a barkeep. Turned out he was a damn fine one at that too. Slym only worked at the bar a couple of months before his eyes started burning, or at least that's what George called it. After that, Slym didn't go out much.

"George?"

"Oh. Sorry Maddie. Was a little lost in thought. What'd you say ahgin?"

"I asked you, you big lug, how Slym was doing?"

George hadn't told nobody about Slym's eyes. Hell, George couldn't even believe it himself sometimes. Not too long ago Slym's eyes started "burning" as George called it. Started glowing red and whatnot. Slym started to get worried and decided to leave the bar for awhile until his eyes started getting better. George thought it best not to even go to the doc, given how crazy it was. Even when those eyes really started burning like they did all the time now. Reminded George of that ripping sound he had heard before he found Slym. George shrugged off the thought.

"He's gettin better Maddie," obviously lying, "think he'll be better anytime now."

"Well that's good. I've missed that lug 'round here."

The door to the bar opened with a jingle that startled George. It'd been awhile since anyone came and went here, so the unfamiliar tone almost made him jump.

"Good evenin hun," Maddie called to the man that walked through the door. "Can I help you with something."

The man was dressed in what looked like all black. Black overcoat with a black suit and tie, complete with black dress shirt. He even wore black gloves and sunglasses. His hair was a dark shade of brown that in the spotty light of the bar made it look almost as black as the rest of his clothing. His hair was long enought to be swept to the sides of his head, but not longer than that all around. Gave him the appearance of some famous movie star or something, George figured. Turns out the only think not black about him was his skin, but even then it sported something of a mild tan.

"Oui cherie," he replied, his accent as thick as can be. George couldn't place it, but if it sounded like anything he could only come up with "garbage". "Whatever a fine madam like yourself would recommend." He had charm, George'd give him that, but the rest of him seemed off. The stranger walked up to the bar where Maddie had poured him a glass of the whiskey that made this bar "famous" and he muttered something of a thanks to Maddie. George could she her fluster a bit, obviously taken by the man. She quickly gathered herself though and left to tend to the other customers.

"Quite the ladies' man, aren'tcha?" George asked.

The man nodded with a smile. "Oui monsieur. They are here for men to love, and I intend to do so."

George laughed. This guy was a card alright.

"However monsieur, I am here on business not pleasure," the man continued.

"Oh?" George replied. "And what business are you in?"

The man took off his sunglasses and looked straight as George. For the first time in hours George felt sober. His eyes. Black as the canadian skies at night with a fiery red spot in the middle.

"Investigation," he replied putting his glasses in a pocket inside his coat. George was speechless. The man reached again in his coat, this time on the other side and produced a business card. He handed it to George. He took it and hurredly read it.

"Remy LeBeau," the man said extending his hand. Looking at the card again, George could see Remy's name across the middle with the word "Gambit" inbetween his first and last name. His title was aparently "Field Leader, Marauders" with the words "Office of Special Investigations in small print below. George looked up and carefully shook Remy's hand, this time not being able to take his gaze off of Remy's eyes.

"Red like Slym's..." George muttered under his breath.

"Monsieur Stuart I assume?" Remy asked.

Bastard knows my name, George thought. Immediatly George was wary of him. And for some reason, he couldn't shake the feeling that Monsieur LeBeau was here to inquire about Slym. Whatever he wanted, George figured it wasn't good.

"Yes, I'm George Stuart," he meekly replied.

"Bien. I came here to inquire about a mutual friend of ours."

Slym. He knew it.

"Oh?" George asked playing possum. "And who would that be?"

Remy laughed. He finished the glass of whiskey and turned it over. "He is a man by the name of one Monsieur Scott Summers. Do you know him?"

George felt a wave of relief wash over him. He'd never heard of anyone by that name. Almost laughed. This guy Remy had nearly given George a heart attack. But still, the guy he was asking about could be Slym, right? he wondered. Possibly. But doubtful. Too much of coincidence he figured.

"No sir," George replied. "Don't know anyone by that name."

Remy didn't seem satisfied. George could see a thin smil cross the man's face.

"You sure mon ami? I would hate to think you were lying to Remy."

At that moment Remy's hand stuck out and touched the card George was holding. George didn't even notice Remy take the glove off. The moment his finger touched the card it lit up with a bright pinkish purple glow that seemed all too foreign to George. He almost immediatly pulled away, but his hand never left the card.

"Positive," George replied nervously. "I ain't got nothin to hide, if that's what you're thinking."

Again Remy smiled.

"Of course you don't," Remy replied. "Not many people around here that you wouldn't know Monsiuer." He paused. "Yet I still think there is something you are not telling Remy."

George swallowed hard. Maybe Scott Summers was Slym's name. George didn't care. Even if it was, he wasn't about to tell anyone about Slym and his condition. The last thing George needed in his life was more craziness. He looked down at that card. It was still glowing.

"You know Remy, you're right... I am hiding something. Turns out I've got the Ark of the Covenant and I'm planning on using it for the Town Festival."

Remy chuckled. He muttered something George couldn't understand and snapped his fingers. The card in George's hand popped like a firecracker, singeing George's hand. The few patrons of the Kodiak stopped what they were doing to look over. Remy chuckled.

"Fine monsieur. But if you ever do find Mr. Summers, I'll be in touch," Remy slyly remarked. He put his glove back on and slipped his glasses back over his eyes. He reached in a pulled out some money and left it on the counter.

"Bonne soiree' Monsieur Stuart."


End file.
